It was no longer curiosity or scrutiny toward a gifted first-year.
It was the look of mortals gazing at an unknown, incomprehensible creation of intelligence—awestruck, fascinated, reverent.
They realized that the internal circuits and crevices of this boy's mind seemed to follow a set of physical laws entirely different from their own.
In the following tactical meeting, the atmosphere grew solemn and heavy.
The players no longer lounged lazily against their benches but sat upright, as if standing in Professor McGonagall's strictest Transfiguration class. They had always relied on their passion and raw instincts to crash into plays, score points, and chase victory. Those were the glory of Gryffindor, the lion's heart flowing in their veins.
But now, Alan's sand table told them that might not be enough.
Alan discerned their inner doubt and confusion. He knew that to make these fierce lions understand and execute his intricate, clockwork-like tactics, he first had to reconstruct their worldview at its foundation.
He needed to establish a new, revolutionary theoretical framework.
So, he didn't immediately throw out the dizzying formation charts and player routes.
He stepped in front of the sand table, the firelight casting deep shadows across his face. From a stack of books, he pulled out a thick, yellowed tome: Quidditch Origins.
His finger turned precisely to a page recording the oldest, blood-and-fire-laden origins of the sport.
"Everyone," his voice was not loud, yet like a stone dropped into a still lake, it instantly captured every mind in the room. His gaze swept around, calm and sharp, carrying a gravitas far beyond his years.
"Before discussing any tactical details, you must understand one thing…"
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle in everyone's mind.
"From the very first day of its birth, Quidditch has never been a simple sport."
He spoke each word deliberately, his tone grave, like a military theory professor addressing West Point cadets.
"It is a war. A war."
The words tightened the air. Charlie Weasley furrowed his brows; the Weasley twins' smirks vanished. For wizards in a peaceful era, war was a distant, heavy concept.
Alan ignored their expressions and pulled another, even older Muggle book from his bag, its dark brown hardcover worn at the edges and smelling of aged paper and ink.
The title, printed in ten archaic Germanic fonts, read: On the Theory of War.
"In this ancient Muggle military text, war is defined as 'the act of forcing the opponent to obey our will through violence.'" Alan placed the book beside Quidditch Origins, as if initiating a dialogue across two worlds.
"And Quidditch, at its core, is no different."
His wand became a pointer, lightly touching the red, inconspicuous Snitch on the sand table.
"Look. The Snitch is your ordinary infantry."
"Its task is not just scoring points. Its mission is to tear apart, assault, and destroy the opponent's defensive system through high-frequency, continuous attacks and harassment. Every pass, every shot, drains the goalkeeper's energy and stretches the Chasers' formation—it consumes their vital force."
The players instinctively glanced at their three Chasers—Angelina Johnson and the others—seeing the red ball in a new, analytical light, as though examining a weapon.
Alan's wand then pointed to the two black Bludgers, menacing on the sand table. They hovered quietly but seemed to harbor a volatile energy, ready to erupt.
"Bludgers," his tone became icy and sharp, "are your strategic deterrent weapons."
"Remember, they are not meant for scoring. Any attempt to use them as a direct scoring tool is a huge waste of their value. Their core value lies in three points: area lockdown, tactical suppression, and targeted neutralization of key opponents."
The Weasley twins' breaths grew heavy. They felt their hearts gripped tightly by these words.
"Their very existence is a threat. Their flight path is a death zone on the battlefield. Every swoop compresses the opponent's space, interferes with their tactics, and exerts psychological pressure."
Finally, Alan's gaze, like a spotlight, fell on the golden, gleaming ball that decides the match: the Snitch.
"And it," he lowered his voice to a deadly whisper, "is not a simple 150-point scoring target. It is the assassin of this war."
"Its presence is not to make the game more thrilling—it is to end the war."
In the common room, every player was captivated. They felt they were not listening to a Quidditch tactical lecture, but attending the highest-level military meeting deciding the fate of a kingdom. The balls they had played with for years, familiar to their bones, were now given a cold, formidable life under Alan's words.
Seeing their eyes fully ignited, Alan finally revealed the core tactical philosophy he had designed for the team—for Gryffindor.
"So, all our future tactics will revolve around one core principle:
Through our regular forces, the Chasers, execute the most efficient and stable positional operations; and through our strategic weapons, the Beaters, achieve the most precise and deterrent area control."
He paused, lightly touching the golden Snitch model with his wand.
"Ultimately, create the fleeting, most advantageous action window for our 'assassin,' the Seeker."
He lifted his gaze, sweeping over every person in the room, his eyes sharp enough to pierce their souls.
"We do not seek thrills in catching the Snitch, nor vain displays of personal heroism. What we pursue is making the catch a result of countless precise calculations—an inevitable, natural outcome."
This complete, logically coherent, coldly militaristic Quidditch War Theory struck like a bolt of lightning, instantly shattering the mental ceiling of every player present.
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